


the snack that smiles back

by pipsqueakparker (lafbaeyette)



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: A Seven Course Meal That Gives Great Hugs, Baz Deserves This Kinda Love, Blood Drinking, Domestic Bliss, Future Fic, M/M, Post-Book 2: Wayward Son, Simon Is The Ultimate Boyfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:20:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24519100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafbaeyette/pseuds/pipsqueakparker
Summary: I fall into one of the chairs, fighting every urge to simply slam my head against the table top, and unzip my lunchbox instead. A sandwich, sloppily wrapped in butter paper. A pack of salt and vinegar crisps. A few scones gathered up in a napkin. And a juice box, because Simon likes to be cheeky and include some things as if he were packing for a child’s school lunch. Normally it’s just a box of ribena, which is a lovely addition to my lunch whether he means for it to be or not.--AKA, The One Where Simon Is The Greatest Boyfriend Ever
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 27
Kudos: 298





	the snack that smiles back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Unenthusiastic_mermaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unenthusiastic_mermaid/gifts).



> Once upon a time, [@subpar-selkie](https://subpar-selkie.tumblr.com) revealed this absolutely spectacular piece of art that has apparently been living in the depths of her files without being shown to the light. Today is the day that changes, because that art is SO magnificent, so _spectacular_ that I was inspired to write this fic to accompany it. (The image included below 100% belongs to Selkie, it is the chicken that came before the egg, I just wrote some silly words to go along with it. Seriously, go give her some love, she's amazing.) 
> 
> I really don't have much more to say, other than thank you, Selkie, for sharing this piece of art with us and helping me finally break through a wall of writer's block and _finally finish a gd fic._ This one's for you, Selkie, and also everyone else in the discord that encouraged this monstrosity. 
> 
> _Also_ , thank you to [The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff/pseuds/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff) for helping me out with the image! HTML makes no sense to me still, but here's hoping this looks okay!
> 
> Also Also, I don't claim to know how jobs or teacher assistantships or the city of london in general work so like, let's approach as usual with a healthy amount of suspension of disbelief.

**BAZ**

Living with Simon is much more tolerable the second time around. The new addition of snogging and shagging in our relationship probably has quite a bit to do with that, but I also can’t discount the sheer amount of emotional work we’ve both put into this. Into _us._ We finally felt it was time to move in together again last year; partially at the insistence of one Penelope Bunce who was itching to move out of their small flat now that she had a loving and devoted boyfriend of her own. It had been nearly three years by that point, though, since our last year of Watford. Since the Humdrum, since that summer in America, since _everything_. Nearly three years of all of that emotional work I mentioned, with therapy and talking and talking and _talking_. I never knew Simon _could_ talk so much, but I’m grateful he did. That we both did. 

Now we’ve our own flat, only about ten minutes away from Penelope because there was no way we could truly separate them. She has a key, and we’ve a key to hers. (She no longer uses that key, after one unfortunate mid-afternoon visit.) (She likes to show up unannounced, and there’s no way _we_ could have known she’d come barging through the front door without so much as a _knock_.) (It took three months and a launder’s receipt before she’d sit in that chair again.) 

Anyway, we’ve our own flat now. And I’ve even got a _job_ , like a proper human adult, as a teacher’s aide. Simon works as well, but mostly from home. He runs a small catering business of sorts, by which I mean he bakes special cakes and treats for our neighbors, and they’ve begun telling their friends so it’s turning into a steady stream of work. I helped him set up a couple business accounts across social media so he could advertise himself and branch out into the local community. 

But all of that means he works from home, of course. And he’s taken his position in the home rather seriously lately, declaring he’d take on meal prep responsibilities so that I wouldn’t “have to worry”. I wasn’t worried, but I also wasn’t going to argue if Simon wanted to cook and make me lunch throughout the week. Of course, I can feed myself, but I’ll never make a roast quite as delectable as Simon’s and the things he can do to my _lunch_? If I weren’t already in love with him, my own stomach would demand I fall head over heels for the man. 

So, Simon makes me lunch throughout most of the week. He’s even purchased me a lunchbox, it’s sleek and grey and insulated. He’s perfected sandwiches, and we’ve always got sweets lying around so he’ll throw a few pastries in for me as well. I’m loathe to admit that I look forward to lunch now nearly as much as Simon did when we were at Watford, even if I’m having a particularly bad day at work I always feel better as I unzip my pack to find the neatly wrapped treats from Simon. 

For example, today has been absolutely unbearable. From the pack of students waiting for me at the door this morning to the sudden _pile_ of revisions I’d been given to mark, every moment of the day has been some special brand of hell. Most of this semester has been, the professor I’ve been assigned is a bleeding nightmare, and still _today_ somehow topped itself for the _worst day_. I don’t find a moment of solace until lunch, when I lock myself in one of the study rooms on campus. 

I fall into one of the chairs, fighting every urge to simply slam my head against the table top, and unzip my lunchbox instead. A sandwich, sloppily wrapped in butter paper. A pack of salt and vinegar crisps. A few scones gathered up in a napkin. And a juice box, because Simon likes to be cheeky and include some things as if he were packing for a child’s school lunch. Normally it’s just a box of ribena, which is a lovely addition to my lunch whether he means for it to be or not. 

Except, I notice as I pull it out, it’s not ribena today. The box is a mint green rather than purple, and when I turn it over in my hand I find a little doodle of what’s meant to be Simon’s head overtop a… drop of blood? It’s also been written on, in what’s very obviously Simon’s scrawl. The top just reads ‘ _SIMON!_ ’, below that, ‘ _the snack that smiles back_ ’, and in the bottom-right corner ' _100% ethically sourced_ ’. (He’s even scribbled across the side, ‘ _I can’t believe it’s_ _not_ _butter!_ ’.) There’s a little straw included, and for a moment I think he’s just upped his cheek and re-done the ribena box. 

I’m halfway through my sandwich when I pop the straw through the top and discover that it is most definitely _not_ ribena, or any brand of juice. It’s thick and metallic, with a familiar savory-sweet undertone. It’s unmistakably blood. _Simon’s_ blood. And I’m so surprised I nearly spit it out. (Thankfully, I don’t. Explaining away the literal _blood stains_ on the students’ work would only be the icing on top of this terrible day.) 

I’m conflicted for a moment, unsure if I should finish it, until the itch of my fangs finally wins out. Who am I kidding, I remain conflicted over it for the remainder of the day. Particularly over the fact that I’ve never sucked something down so quick.

**SIMON**

I can practically feel the stress radiating off of Baz as soon as he walks through the door. He’s always stressed lately, it seems, and I’ve been trying to figure out a way to help. Even nightly shag-fests haven’t really been doing much for his mood, even after he’s tired himself out and lets me nuzzle into his side his shoulders remain too tense, his jaw held too tight. 

“How’s your day, love?” I ask with a kiss to his cheek as he meets me in the kitchen. I’ve just put a couple pans in the oven, test runs for an event later next week, so I’ve got a good twenty minutes to devote to Baz and his woes. He slumps into my chest when I wrap an arm around his waist, rubbing his side soothingly with a hand as I lift the other to pull the band from his hair and run my fingers through the newly freed strands. His answer is a heavy sigh into my neck and I coo and press a kiss to his temple. “That bad?”

“Just tired.” He murmurs, trying to brush it off because he _always_ tries to brush it off. I tilt my head to catch his lips with my own and he lets out another soft sigh against my mouth. I chuckle and lean back, just enough to look at his face, take in the darker marks beneath his eyes (which are shut as he leans into me). 

“I was thinking we could order takeaway tonight, easy dinner.” He hums his agreement and leans closer, not even bothering to open his eyes, so he completely misses my mouth and lands a kiss on my chin instead. I laugh at his frown. “Thirsty, darling? Can heat you something up while I call an order in, if you want.” 

Baz finally straightens up and opens his eyes, only to narrow them at me immediately. “No, and I actually needed to ask you about something.” I know what he’s going to ask before he even pulls the little green box from his lunch kit. “ _What_ is this?” 

I give him a gentle smile. I wasn’t sure how he’d react to that, if I’m honest, but I hoped he’d like it. Or that it’d help, at least, kind of like a mid-afternoon pick-me-up. “Just a little… treat. Thought you’d like it.” 

“Did you honestly box up your own _blood_ and put it in my _lunch,_ Snow?” 

“Well, when you put it that way it sounds properly creepy.” 

Baz rolls his eyes. He must be feeling a bit better, enough to be exasperated by me. “ _How_ did you even— _What—_ Simon, what the _fuck?”_

“You’ve been having such a hard time at work, I thought maybe it’d help!” I take the box from his hand, holding it up with a smile. “D’ya like the box? Designed ‘em myself.” 

“Designed _them_? How many more of these do you have?” 

“Well…” Baz crosses his arms and watches me rock back on my heels. He lifts that one bloody eyebrow and I huff, shrugging my shoulders. “Just a… a few. A bit. A… Maybe a few dozen.” His other brow shoots up. “Not filled! Yet, I mean. I. I designed the box and bought a few dozen, and I thought I’d fill them up for you in the mornings. Y’know, so it’d be fresh.” 

“ _Snow_. This is your _blood_.” He only calls me Snow now when he’s upset or I’m being particularly thick. I really hope he just thinks I’m being thick, I didn’t mean for it to upset him, but… 

“Oh, come on, Baz, that little box is barely how much you take when you bite me yourself—”

“ _Bit_.” He corrects. “When I _bit_ you, the _one time_. And that was an emergency situation, Snow, you’re not a _food source_.” 

“But you like it, yeah? And isn’t it, like… better for you? Human bl—” 

“That’s not the point, you know as well as I that I’m fine with what you get from the butchers. It’s a step up from having to go hunting in the middle of a London park, at least.” 

“And this is a step up from pig’s blood that’s been in the freezer for who knows how long! I don’t mind, Baz, if it helps—” 

“ _I_ mind, I don’t—” He stops himself short, runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t think of you like _that,_ Simon. You’re my boyfriend, you’re someone I love, not a _snack_.” 

“Agree to disagree about me being a snack.” Baz rolls his eyes again, but I see the twitch at the corners of his mouth. I set the box aside on the counter, taking his hand in mine instead, and moving closer until we’re nearly chest to chest. He has to look at me down his too-high crooked nose, and I love it when he does that. “Facts. Work is stressing you out. You feel worse when you’re thirsty.” He opens his mouth to argue and I lift my other hand to cover it. He narrows his eyes, which only makes me grin. “You get by fine with animal blood, _but_ human is better. I am chock full of human blood, and I’m making more every day. I can spare a couple ounces here or there, if it’s going to help you feel better. Did it help? Today? When you drank it?” 

Baz finally sighs behind my hand, shoulders dropping in resignation as he admits a muffled, “A bit.”

I drop my hand. “Just a bit?” 

He’s going to roll his eyes so hard they fall out of his head one of these days, I swear. “Alright, _quite_ a bit. You’re like a bloody five-hour energy shot, I actually made it through the last half of my day without beheading one of our students _or_ the professor.” 

“We should really talk to someone about your violent urges, darling.” I press a soft kiss to his lips and turn back to the oven, leaning over to check on the cakes I’d put in. 

I feel Baz crowding behind me as I shut the oven door again, his long arms winding around my middle and his cool lips pressing into the side of my neck. A little shiver runs through me at the memory of _that_ night, but he did make it clear that wasn’t to happen again. 

“Simon?” His voice is quiet, and _soft_. I hum, leaning into his embrace. “Thank you.” 

“Of course, love.” 

He’s leaving soft kisses over my neck and shoulder, barely-there brushes of his lips, until he finally speaks up again. “How’re you doing it? Getting the blood into the box, and all.” 

“Oh, I got a phlebotomy kit.” 

He uses his hold ‘round my middle to turn me toward him, setting me with that same accusing and quizzical look from earlier. “You don’t know anything about phlebotomy…” 

“I looked up some YouTube videos!” 

He’s not as amused by that answer, dropping his forehead against my shoulder with a heavy sigh. 

“ _Simon.._.” 

But then he’s laughing, soft bubbling sounds into my shirt that shake his frame. And then I’m laughing with him, into him, as he holds me closer and pulls me into another kiss. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! 
> 
> you can find me on tumblr: @pipsqueakparker 
> 
> and you can find selkie on tumblr or instagram: @subpar-selkie 
> 
> (I REPEAT, GO FOLLOW SELKIE HER LIL' MARSHMALLOW DRAWINGS ARE SO CUTE, this entire fic has been an advertisement for subpar-selkie, thank you)


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